"Serendipity"
Disclaimers: Love 'em, don't own 'em.
(4/4)
"Serendipity," said Frank Pembleton. "Ser-en-dip-i-ty. Defined as, the aptitude or ability of making discoveries by accident."
"Gee, Pembleton," said Beau, slouching against the wall of the observation room. "Now that I know you, I can take my word-of-the-day calendar back for a refund." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "What will I do with the six-ninety-five?"
"I do not believe," Frank continued, "in serendipity."
"The girl's a little sketchy," admitted Howard, who leaned on the wall next to Beau. "But Sugar Ray backs up her story. And once Tony T. thinks about it for a while. . ." Kay gestured through the glass to the interview room. The hate-filled eyes of Tony Tolliver stared back.
Pembleton waved a hand. "I believe the sister's story," he said. "The part about the killing anyway, if not about what a poor victim she is. I just find it - puzzling - that Felton so serendipitously stumbled on her, and she was so - eager - to confess."
Beau stared at Frank. "Are you suggesting, what, I beat it out of her?" Frank's gaze didn't waver. Beau snorted. "Ask Russert." Frank looked as if he was ready to take him up on the offer.
"She took Nisha to Central Booking, Frank," Kay interjected. "But come on, it's not that hard to do the math. This kid helps take out one of Mac Daddy's big guns. She knows what Mac's capable of. When someone comes storming into her house, she's glad it's just the police."
Frank shrugged, still looking unsatisfied. Then he rubbed his hands and turned back to the Box. "Now to finish off Tony T."
With a cursory glance at Beau, he said, "I can take it from here."
Felton rolled his eyes, and Frank demanded, "What do you want me to say?"
"Good work. Thank you." It was Kay's voice, directed at Frank.
Frank's eyes flitted from Beau to Kay, then back again. "When's the wedding?" he asked.
"As soon as you learn some manners." Kay's voice carried a warning.
"Good work," Frank said flatly. "Thank you." He strode into the interview room without looking back.
Beau stared after Pembleton and fantasized about kicking those perfect teeth in.
"It's not always that easy, hmm?" Kay jerked him back to reality.
"Getting Pembleton to share the credit?" Beau muttered.
"No, dingbat," she smiled. "Solving murders."
Beau shrugged, flipped his jacket over his shoulder, and made for the exit. "Not that I'll be worrying about doing that anytime soon."
"Too bad," Kay said mildly.
Felton stopped short. "What do you mean?"
She shrugged. "Just that my partner retired five months ago, and the powers that be have finally approved Gee - Lieutenant Giardello, that is - to hire another detective."
"You mean, I could work with Frank Pembleton and poke around dead bodies every day? You think if I asked, I could have a pay cut?"
"The coffee sucks, too." Kay smiled. "I'll put in a good word for you."
Megan stepped onto the roof and saw Beau seated at a picnic table, blowing cigarette smoke out over the darkening harbor.
"Ah, there's the great detective." Beau turned and Megan handed him a can of Coke. "Drinks are on me," she said, slipping onto the bench beside him. "Oh, and congratulations on the brilliant police work."
Beau stubbed his cigarette on the table and reached into his coat pocket for another. "This case fell in my lap."
Megan shrugged. "You were there to catch it."
"Serendipity," Beau mused. He lit a cigarette, took a long drag and said, "This homicide thing wouldn't such a bad gig. Did you see what they've got down there? A board with the name of every victim. In red. When it's solved, the name goes up in black." He spread his hands. "You've done something, you know?"
"Not all homicides get closed in a day, you know?"
"So you ladies keep reminding me." He was silent for a minute. "No pay raise, but the hours can't be any worse. And I can't decide if the chance to screw with Frank Pembleton every day is a plus or. . ."
"You serious?" Megan asked in surprise.
"I know it's a longshot," he answered, inhaling deeply from the cigarette. "But, hell, Kay said she needs a partner."
"Ohh-ooh." Russert smiled. "Ka-aay."
Beau waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing like that, Megan. No seriously. . .she seems like a good cop, but she's not that kind of woman."
Megan's eyebrows rose. "Meaning she's what? Gay, ugly, or taken?"
He frowned. "None - that I know of anyway. She's just. . .all business."
Megan leaned back, turned her head for a moment, then faced him again. Her tone was still light, but with a serious note.
"Does that mean I'm not?"
"All business?" Felton considered. "Well, you were flirting with the voodoo kid."
"Everybody flirts with Frank, Beau. He's just like that. And totally safe, because, from what I hear, he's very happily married."
Beau lowered his gaze at Megan. "Aren't you?"
She stood, turned away, and wrapped her fingers through the chain link fence. "Isn't everybody?"
"Megan," Beau murmured. He rose to his feet and stood behind her. She wouldn't face him and he said, "This isn't easy." A hand on her shoulder, and she turned to him. "Megan, what I said to Doug? Drunk talk, okay? Macho drunk talk. I've got a lot of respect for you, so please don't think I don't." She nodded slowly, and he let out his breath. "Just thought we should have that in the open."
"Yeah, well. . .Well, you're right, and. . .Thanks, really." Nodding repeatedly. "Now I guess, it's my turn, I have to admit. . .this whole thing, riding with you this week?"
"Doug put you up to it?" Beau asked flatly.
Megan blinked in surprise. "No, I mean, why would he. . .? To mess with you, I guess. I guess that was, a little, but. . ." She shook her head vigorously and realized that, far from looking offended, Beau was smiling. She always seemed so controlled, so together; Felton must have gotten some perverse joy out of seeing her flustered. The odd thing was that she was enjoying the sensation herself, and no feelings of guilt, loyalty, or even irony could undo that realization. "I don't always know why I do things anymore, Beau," she sighed. "Maybe part of me even enjoyed believing that you - well, that you had a - a thing for me."
"I do," he answered and, after her own babbling, the bluntness of the comment struck her with double force. She had no answer and he spread his hands, "I'm not saying I'd do anything, even if you wanted. . . ." He swallowed. "I know, we've got - other people."
They both leaned against the fence now, and Beau lit another cigarette. "So. What's he like?"
"He?"
"You know." A pause. "Gant and Donovan."
"Well. . .Gant is sixty-eight with a bad hairpiece and liver spots, and he likes to play grabass with the secretarial pool."
Beau wiggled an eyebrow. "Sounds like my kinda guy."
"Huh. . ." She smiled. "Donovan. . .Smart. . .thoughtful. . . a great father. . .a good hand with an electric drill, not so much with a lawnmower, so it's good we live in a fixer-upper in the city. . ."
"Handsome? Sexy?"
She wrinkled her nose. "You wouldn't think so."
"No, Megan," he said drily, "I probably wouldn't."
"I mean, you wouldn't think I'd think so. Nobody would mistake Mike for a movie star. But. . .we've had a good life together, if that's what you're asking."
Beau noted the verb tense and looked at her oddly.
The next words came out in a sigh. "He's sick."
"Sick like. . .?" Beau looked baffled.
"Cancer," she said quietly. "I mean, he got through chemo about a month ago. In remission, now . It'll be months before they know, and if he's clean then, everything should be fine . . ."
Felton was staring at her, then found his voice. "God, Megan, make me feel like a jerk!" he choked out.
"Beau?" she asked in surprise.
"Here I am, saying - saying stuff - to you, to a woman with a husband who - are you trying to make me feel like a jerk?"
"Of course not," she soothed him. "You didn't know. . ."
"You didn't tell me," Beau shot back. He gathered his arms around his chest, turned from her, and leaned back sulkily against the fence.
"I didn't tell anybody," she said gently. "I mean, I haven't - hardly anyone. Doug knows, because he's friends with Mike and - well, because he's my partner. The lieutenant knows - just that I've taken family time, not the details." Beau frowned at her from under his dark eyebrows and her voice took on a defensive tone. "It's hard enough being a woman in this job, without parading your personal life in front of. . ."
"So why tell me?" His tone was flat, his eyes unreadable.
Megan stared at him in silence for a while, then whispered. "I don't know." She squeezed her temples. "Because I just want you to understand that I'm in a bad place right now and. . . I don't always know why I do things and. . . well, it's just not a good time for me to be thinking about 'What could happen if things were different,' all the things people always say when they both. . ." Their eyes met and held that way for a long moment.
Felton was the first to pull away. He shook his head and murmured, "All right, all right. And - things went well this week." A smile. "We showed 'em, huh? But. . .I'll understand if you don't think. . .again, you and me."
She nodded. "Probably not a good idea."
Beau smashed the last cigarette under his foot and turned to retrieve a barely-touched Coke from the picnic table. He raised it. "Thanks for the drink. Cheers."
"I think that's mine," she whispered, reaching out for it. Their fingers touched, their eyes held again, and she said, "He wants to have a baby."
Beau released the can and eased his way back onto the table. "Donovan?"
"Mike, yeah. He told me today."
"Was this. . . did it surprise you?" Beau's wasn't used to being anyone's confidante. He hadn't exactly cultivated the skill of saying the right thing, or making all the right listening sounds. But the strain of separating her work from her home life was clearly weighing on Megan, Beau thought. She needed someone to understand. The harbor lights played in her hair, the pain worked in her face, and she had never, he thought, looked more beautiful.
"We had talked about it - for years, we always wanted - at least one more. We were waiting for - the right time in my career, I guess, when I didn't have to be on the street as much." She was counting on a promotion, Beau realized, as annoyed as she had been at him for suggesting it. . "Since. . .well, since he was diagnosed. We hadn't talked about it. At all. I guess I just thought - so today was kind of out of the blue."
"So. . ." Beau asked. "He wants to have a baby. . .when he gets better?"
Megan shook her head. "In case he doesn't get better. I think." She looked up at Felton and said apologetically, "I guess - well, Doug's not around and I sort of wanted a male perspective and. . .does that seem a little weird to you?"
"Weird?" Beau shrugged. "Not really. Scary as it is when I look at mine, our kids are our best shot at immortality."
"I knew you'd say that!" Megan cried. "What is that? Only men think that. You'll never hear that from a woman."
"Only men can become parents nine months after they die," he answered. "The week me and Beth found out she was having Zack, this junkie pulled a gun on me. It took him about a second to realize how stupid that was, and he dropped it, but I'm standing there thinking - I could be dead, and I've got a kid not even born. It was scary as hell, but . . .well, almost comforting."
"It wouldn't have been for your wife," Megan said forcefully, then breathed out a sigh. "Beau, it rips me up just to think about Mike - about not having Mike, but, if it comes to that, it'll be hard enough being on my own with Caroline without - " Beau saw tears pooling in her eyes, and he gingerly placed a hand on her arm. "I just can't, Beau, I can't think about. . ."
"Then don't," he answered softly. "If he loves you - I know he loves you - he'll understand."
Megan wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "But then I think - if I don't do this now - will I regret it one day?"
"We never know what things we'll regret," he answered, then smiled as the obviousness of the statement occurred to him. "If we did, we wouldn't do them."
"Or we would," Megan answered. "Instead of not doing something, I mean. As the case may be." She laughed softly. Beau joined in, but the sound faded as suddenly as it had begun. "It's late," she sighed. "I need to go home."
Instead she rested her head against Beau's shoulder. The "Broadway Pier" sign glowed behind them, and they stood for a long time, watching lights turn on across the harbor.
END
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Disclaimers: Love 'em, don't own 'em.
(4/4)
"Serendipity," said Frank Pembleton. "Ser-en-dip-i-ty. Defined as, the aptitude or ability of making discoveries by accident."
"Gee, Pembleton," said Beau, slouching against the wall of the observation room. "Now that I know you, I can take my word-of-the-day calendar back for a refund." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "What will I do with the six-ninety-five?"
"I do not believe," Frank continued, "in serendipity."
"The girl's a little sketchy," admitted Howard, who leaned on the wall next to Beau. "But Sugar Ray backs up her story. And once Tony T. thinks about it for a while. . ." Kay gestured through the glass to the interview room. The hate-filled eyes of Tony Tolliver stared back.
Pembleton waved a hand. "I believe the sister's story," he said. "The part about the killing anyway, if not about what a poor victim she is. I just find it - puzzling - that Felton so serendipitously stumbled on her, and she was so - eager - to confess."
Beau stared at Frank. "Are you suggesting, what, I beat it out of her?" Frank's gaze didn't waver. Beau snorted. "Ask Russert." Frank looked as if he was ready to take him up on the offer.
"She took Nisha to Central Booking, Frank," Kay interjected. "But come on, it's not that hard to do the math. This kid helps take out one of Mac Daddy's big guns. She knows what Mac's capable of. When someone comes storming into her house, she's glad it's just the police."
Frank shrugged, still looking unsatisfied. Then he rubbed his hands and turned back to the Box. "Now to finish off Tony T."
With a cursory glance at Beau, he said, "I can take it from here."
Felton rolled his eyes, and Frank demanded, "What do you want me to say?"
"Good work. Thank you." It was Kay's voice, directed at Frank.
Frank's eyes flitted from Beau to Kay, then back again. "When's the wedding?" he asked.
"As soon as you learn some manners." Kay's voice carried a warning.
"Good work," Frank said flatly. "Thank you." He strode into the interview room without looking back.
Beau stared after Pembleton and fantasized about kicking those perfect teeth in.
"It's not always that easy, hmm?" Kay jerked him back to reality.
"Getting Pembleton to share the credit?" Beau muttered.
"No, dingbat," she smiled. "Solving murders."
Beau shrugged, flipped his jacket over his shoulder, and made for the exit. "Not that I'll be worrying about doing that anytime soon."
"Too bad," Kay said mildly.
Felton stopped short. "What do you mean?"
She shrugged. "Just that my partner retired five months ago, and the powers that be have finally approved Gee - Lieutenant Giardello, that is - to hire another detective."
"You mean, I could work with Frank Pembleton and poke around dead bodies every day? You think if I asked, I could have a pay cut?"
"The coffee sucks, too." Kay smiled. "I'll put in a good word for you."
Megan stepped onto the roof and saw Beau seated at a picnic table, blowing cigarette smoke out over the darkening harbor.
"Ah, there's the great detective." Beau turned and Megan handed him a can of Coke. "Drinks are on me," she said, slipping onto the bench beside him. "Oh, and congratulations on the brilliant police work."
Beau stubbed his cigarette on the table and reached into his coat pocket for another. "This case fell in my lap."
Megan shrugged. "You were there to catch it."
"Serendipity," Beau mused. He lit a cigarette, took a long drag and said, "This homicide thing wouldn't such a bad gig. Did you see what they've got down there? A board with the name of every victim. In red. When it's solved, the name goes up in black." He spread his hands. "You've done something, you know?"
"Not all homicides get closed in a day, you know?"
"So you ladies keep reminding me." He was silent for a minute. "No pay raise, but the hours can't be any worse. And I can't decide if the chance to screw with Frank Pembleton every day is a plus or. . ."
"You serious?" Megan asked in surprise.
"I know it's a longshot," he answered, inhaling deeply from the cigarette. "But, hell, Kay said she needs a partner."
"Ohh-ooh." Russert smiled. "Ka-aay."
Beau waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing like that, Megan. No seriously. . .she seems like a good cop, but she's not that kind of woman."
Megan's eyebrows rose. "Meaning she's what? Gay, ugly, or taken?"
He frowned. "None - that I know of anyway. She's just. . .all business."
Megan leaned back, turned her head for a moment, then faced him again. Her tone was still light, but with a serious note.
"Does that mean I'm not?"
"All business?" Felton considered. "Well, you were flirting with the voodoo kid."
"Everybody flirts with Frank, Beau. He's just like that. And totally safe, because, from what I hear, he's very happily married."
Beau lowered his gaze at Megan. "Aren't you?"
She stood, turned away, and wrapped her fingers through the chain link fence. "Isn't everybody?"
"Megan," Beau murmured. He rose to his feet and stood behind her. She wouldn't face him and he said, "This isn't easy." A hand on her shoulder, and she turned to him. "Megan, what I said to Doug? Drunk talk, okay? Macho drunk talk. I've got a lot of respect for you, so please don't think I don't." She nodded slowly, and he let out his breath. "Just thought we should have that in the open."
"Yeah, well. . .Well, you're right, and. . .Thanks, really." Nodding repeatedly. "Now I guess, it's my turn, I have to admit. . .this whole thing, riding with you this week?"
"Doug put you up to it?" Beau asked flatly.
Megan blinked in surprise. "No, I mean, why would he. . .? To mess with you, I guess. I guess that was, a little, but. . ." She shook her head vigorously and realized that, far from looking offended, Beau was smiling. She always seemed so controlled, so together; Felton must have gotten some perverse joy out of seeing her flustered. The odd thing was that she was enjoying the sensation herself, and no feelings of guilt, loyalty, or even irony could undo that realization. "I don't always know why I do things anymore, Beau," she sighed. "Maybe part of me even enjoyed believing that you - well, that you had a - a thing for me."
"I do," he answered and, after her own babbling, the bluntness of the comment struck her with double force. She had no answer and he spread his hands, "I'm not saying I'd do anything, even if you wanted. . . ." He swallowed. "I know, we've got - other people."
They both leaned against the fence now, and Beau lit another cigarette. "So. What's he like?"
"He?"
"You know." A pause. "Gant and Donovan."
"Well. . .Gant is sixty-eight with a bad hairpiece and liver spots, and he likes to play grabass with the secretarial pool."
Beau wiggled an eyebrow. "Sounds like my kinda guy."
"Huh. . ." She smiled. "Donovan. . .Smart. . .thoughtful. . . a great father. . .a good hand with an electric drill, not so much with a lawnmower, so it's good we live in a fixer-upper in the city. . ."
"Handsome? Sexy?"
She wrinkled her nose. "You wouldn't think so."
"No, Megan," he said drily, "I probably wouldn't."
"I mean, you wouldn't think I'd think so. Nobody would mistake Mike for a movie star. But. . .we've had a good life together, if that's what you're asking."
Beau noted the verb tense and looked at her oddly.
The next words came out in a sigh. "He's sick."
"Sick like. . .?" Beau looked baffled.
"Cancer," she said quietly. "I mean, he got through chemo about a month ago. In remission, now . It'll be months before they know, and if he's clean then, everything should be fine . . ."
Felton was staring at her, then found his voice. "God, Megan, make me feel like a jerk!" he choked out.
"Beau?" she asked in surprise.
"Here I am, saying - saying stuff - to you, to a woman with a husband who - are you trying to make me feel like a jerk?"
"Of course not," she soothed him. "You didn't know. . ."
"You didn't tell me," Beau shot back. He gathered his arms around his chest, turned from her, and leaned back sulkily against the fence.
"I didn't tell anybody," she said gently. "I mean, I haven't - hardly anyone. Doug knows, because he's friends with Mike and - well, because he's my partner. The lieutenant knows - just that I've taken family time, not the details." Beau frowned at her from under his dark eyebrows and her voice took on a defensive tone. "It's hard enough being a woman in this job, without parading your personal life in front of. . ."
"So why tell me?" His tone was flat, his eyes unreadable.
Megan stared at him in silence for a while, then whispered. "I don't know." She squeezed her temples. "Because I just want you to understand that I'm in a bad place right now and. . . I don't always know why I do things and. . . well, it's just not a good time for me to be thinking about 'What could happen if things were different,' all the things people always say when they both. . ." Their eyes met and held that way for a long moment.
Felton was the first to pull away. He shook his head and murmured, "All right, all right. And - things went well this week." A smile. "We showed 'em, huh? But. . .I'll understand if you don't think. . .again, you and me."
She nodded. "Probably not a good idea."
Beau smashed the last cigarette under his foot and turned to retrieve a barely-touched Coke from the picnic table. He raised it. "Thanks for the drink. Cheers."
"I think that's mine," she whispered, reaching out for it. Their fingers touched, their eyes held again, and she said, "He wants to have a baby."
Beau released the can and eased his way back onto the table. "Donovan?"
"Mike, yeah. He told me today."
"Was this. . . did it surprise you?" Beau's wasn't used to being anyone's confidante. He hadn't exactly cultivated the skill of saying the right thing, or making all the right listening sounds. But the strain of separating her work from her home life was clearly weighing on Megan, Beau thought. She needed someone to understand. The harbor lights played in her hair, the pain worked in her face, and she had never, he thought, looked more beautiful.
"We had talked about it - for years, we always wanted - at least one more. We were waiting for - the right time in my career, I guess, when I didn't have to be on the street as much." She was counting on a promotion, Beau realized, as annoyed as she had been at him for suggesting it. . "Since. . .well, since he was diagnosed. We hadn't talked about it. At all. I guess I just thought - so today was kind of out of the blue."
"So. . ." Beau asked. "He wants to have a baby. . .when he gets better?"
Megan shook her head. "In case he doesn't get better. I think." She looked up at Felton and said apologetically, "I guess - well, Doug's not around and I sort of wanted a male perspective and. . .does that seem a little weird to you?"
"Weird?" Beau shrugged. "Not really. Scary as it is when I look at mine, our kids are our best shot at immortality."
"I knew you'd say that!" Megan cried. "What is that? Only men think that. You'll never hear that from a woman."
"Only men can become parents nine months after they die," he answered. "The week me and Beth found out she was having Zack, this junkie pulled a gun on me. It took him about a second to realize how stupid that was, and he dropped it, but I'm standing there thinking - I could be dead, and I've got a kid not even born. It was scary as hell, but . . .well, almost comforting."
"It wouldn't have been for your wife," Megan said forcefully, then breathed out a sigh. "Beau, it rips me up just to think about Mike - about not having Mike, but, if it comes to that, it'll be hard enough being on my own with Caroline without - " Beau saw tears pooling in her eyes, and he gingerly placed a hand on her arm. "I just can't, Beau, I can't think about. . ."
"Then don't," he answered softly. "If he loves you - I know he loves you - he'll understand."
Megan wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "But then I think - if I don't do this now - will I regret it one day?"
"We never know what things we'll regret," he answered, then smiled as the obviousness of the statement occurred to him. "If we did, we wouldn't do them."
"Or we would," Megan answered. "Instead of not doing something, I mean. As the case may be." She laughed softly. Beau joined in, but the sound faded as suddenly as it had begun. "It's late," she sighed. "I need to go home."
Instead she rested her head against Beau's shoulder. The "Broadway Pier" sign glowed behind them, and they stood for a long time, watching lights turn on across the harbor.
END
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